BONNIE, aged four, has started ballet, and she LOVES it. It’s come as a shock, as I’m more used to delivering boys to various sports fields.

With rugby, football, cricket and hockey, you just have to make sure the kit is vaguely clean and get them to the pitch on time. They have no use for you other than as clothes washer and taxi driver.

Standing in the ‘ballet shop’, the lady behind the counter could see I was struggling. After a couple of weeks ‘trying out’ her half-hour ballet class (ie, checking she wasn’t going to have the screaming ab-dabs or get bored), we were instructed to buy her official ‘uniform.’ Would a pair of tights and a pink dress-up ballet tutu do? No chance.

“Some teachers are stricter than others,” explained the ballet-shop-lady. Is it Miss [So and So] or Miss [So and So]? Ah yes, a leotard and skirt will be fine for a four-year old, you’ve probably got your own tights you can use.”

To say she’s delighted in her ballet clothes is an understatement. She’d sleep in them if we let her. The added bonus is it all cost more than a tenner less than one junior club rugby shirt.

Of course, she’s already showing prima ballerina behavior: “Where are the shoes? I must have shoes! Why haven’t I got ballet slippers?”

I was back in the shop a few days later buying tiny ballet slippers. I’m a pushover.